Fearsome Beasts
by ApollinaV
Summary: Pixies are rather bothersome creatures. SS/HG Romance.
1. Chapter 1

WARNING: Sexual content while human characters are in non-human form.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.

Snape glanced up from the polished wooden sales counter as the bell jangled the presence of another customer. His brows furrowed for the moment, taking in the horrid sight of Hermione, her jumper torn and caked with mud. She hadn't bothered tidying up her appearance one jot, and he knew they'd have to have another one of _those_ conversations again.

Cleanliness was akin to godliness in Potionry. A single contamination could ruin several thousands of Galleons worth of merchandise, or blow them all to kingdom come. She knew that, of course. But since she'd unanimously earned her Potions Mistress certification six months early and with honors, the bothersome girl gave him so few things to get on her about.

"Don't you start with me," she growled, dropping a burlap sack between them with a wet _thunk_. "I'm in no mood—the bloody thing bit me." She lifted the hem of her torn pants leg to reveal a sickening bite.

"Should I start stocking silver filings now?"

"Don't worry, I was protected. I won't turn Were on you, though I could develop a fondness for carrots."

"And you killed it out of spite?" he asked with a smirk, relishing in her uncomfortable wince.

Hermione hated killing creatures, even in self defense. He had assumed the battle-hardened hero who'd fallen Dark wizards twice her size under her wand would get over her reluctance, but that hadn't happened. She was disgustingly an animal lover—one of those sodding, bleeding hearts types, too. What she was doing in Potionry was beyond him. Where the devil did she think 'eye of newt' came from? Regardless, the witch fancied Potions and—astonishingly enough—almost seemed to fancy him. Or at least she put up with his regular bullshit, which was saying quite a lot. Even he was willing to admit that one.

"You could have Stunned it," he pointed out.

"Yes, well, the plan changed when thirty of them bolted from the cave and swarmed me," she grimly acknowledged.

"Tsk! Tsk! Hermione, I know I taught you better than that—never allow yourself to become overwhelmed and _always assess the working conditions._ Pity this couldn't have been avoided. Who knows, perhaps this Wererabbit was protecting a liter of little fluffy bunnies."

Her lower lip quivered as tears threatened to gather in the corners of her eyes. She sniffed and rubbed her filthy sleeve on her cheeks before bucking up and lifted her chin in defiance.

_Atta girl,_ Severus mentally praised. She needed to stop looking at the creatures as cuddly widdle animals and start viewing them as merchandise. Her stomach would settle, and she'd forget easily enough once they were dried, preserved, or pickled. The success of their Apothecary depended upon it.

"Right," she affirmed in a falsely calm voice, casting a saddened glance at the burlap bag. "I'm going to go get cleaned up, then I'll work on inventory."

A solitary black eyebrow inched toward his hairline. "And you'll leave harvesting the rabbit to me?"

Hermione licked her lips nervously and cleared her throat. "No, I'll do it. Let me just get showered and changed."

The shop was empty, and it had been a slow Tuesday. New orders had come in, but they weren't urgent. Their financial ledger had consumed most of his attention that morning, but Severus conceded he could use a break. For those reasons alone, and not to spare Hermione of her responsibilities, he took to the task of harvesting the Wererabbit while Hermione put herself back together.

Reluctantly, Severus admitted the rabbit was rather… cute. If one could get past the great big gnashing teeth and bloodlust.

When Hermione returned, freshly scrubbed and changed, smelling of the shop's bestselling ginger wash, her mouth opened in a wide 'oh' when she laid eyes on Wererabbit bits and pieces sorted, cleaned, and canned. Severus said nothing, but handed her the clipboard containing her notes for inventory.

She nodded once, warm appreciation in her eyes, before setting to the onerous task that she didn't mind nearly as much as Severus did. In many ways, they complimented each other, which kept the small shop of selective clientele coming back to their door. Hermione was friendly and helpful when she played shop girl. Severus could negotiate and carried the weight of an established reputation above reproach. Hermione managed their stock. Severus managed their expenses. And they both tried to keep the bickering to a minimum—and never in front of customers—which was why the red-headed whelp was permanently banned.

The wizarding world did not lack for another Apothecary. Hogsmeade had three well-established Apothecaries. London held more than he could shake a Bowtruckle at. Teaching didn't pay. Nor did research. Just about any commonly used potion could be brewed by a competent Potioneer's Assistant or N.E.W.T. level student—which effectively meant that, for all its petty airs, being a Potions Master was hardly glamorous. The only way to make any money in the profession was to open an Apothecary.

Apothecaries came and went—mostly when get-rich-quick wizards realized they could buy supplies like mullein leaf from Muggles inexpensively and sell for triple the Galleons to wizarding customers. Those sorts never lasted more than a season or two. The shops with staying power only stayed around by finding a niche in the market that allowed them to cultivate loyal customers.

They were still trying to figure out the niche for their shop as it went through the growing pains of a new business. Thus far, the best marketing decision they had made was to drop Nackledirk. _The Mystic Kettle_ might have been a bland name, but referencing the obscure Potions Master of the seventeenth century was too much of a mouthful, regardless of how much both Severus and Hermione esteemed his groundbreaking work. In all, they managed to keep the doors open by offering rare and unusual potions ingredients. It was a dandy business prospect, except for one problem:

They had to find rare and unusual potions ingredients.

Cornering the market on Basilisk bits was the easy part, but if their business were to thrive, they had to diversify beyond the venomous creature.

"We're low on Cockatrice quills," Hermione called out from across the small shop.

Severus grunted in response. He'd have to manage that one. Hermione could take on ankle-sized Wererabbits, but Cockatrices were actual beasts that required finesse and handling. Oh, Hermione had finesse, but if something were to go wrong, he'd have to hire a replacement, and interviewing candidates was such an unbearable chore. If Hermione hadn't been his Apprentice at the time, he doubted she'd have landed the job.

No, it was best he pinch feathers from the rooster/lizard beast himself. Preferably before it shredded him.

"And we're completely out of Pixie Dust."

Severus' head snapped up from the handwritten ledger. "There should be more in the back."

"Oh, honestly, Severus, do you think I haven't checked there? When I say we're out of Pixie Dust, I mean we're out of Pixie Dust."

"Damn," Severus swore under his breath.

They did have new orders—orders that specifically required Pixie Dust. If they couldn't deliver the goods, it was possible they'd lose the whole order and dash away all hopes of future business.

Hermione must have had bat-hearing because she rounded the shelves making a beeline for him.

"We need Pixie Dust," she said dryly.

Severus nodded the affirmative.

"Damn," she swore under her breath. They traded speculating glances.

"I did it last time," she preempted him with raised hands.

"I did it last time," he countered.

"You did not, I did. And those little buggers bit me then, too."

"When does some creature not bite you, Hermione?"

"That's not germane to the conversation, you git. I did it in June."

"And I clearly recall doing it in August."

Hermione dug her feet in, and they'd be there all afternoon arguing the point. Severus could tell, because she'd laced her arms beneath her breasts, which plumped them up nicely, very nicely, but it was the stance she took right before she attempted to lecture him like another one of those mouth-breathing, fuckwitted friends that clung to her.

He forestalled the lecture.

"We'll both collect it, then."

She was ready to argue, but gave in, her clipboard clattering to the sales counter. Massaging her temples in a familiar gesture, Hermione noted that she'd chosen the day to collect Wererabbit whiskers because it was the night of the new moon. Severus dutifully passed her a Headache Draught and measured a dose for himself. The new moon was the darkest night of the lunar cycle and the best time to spot Pixie lights.

A/N:  
This story was written as a gift for Mollyssister—I hope you love it!

Beta'd by the amazingly talented christev and alpha-read by the extraordinarily mischievous mischievous_t.

Random trivia: The Mystic Kettle of Nackledirk was the fake working-title of Deathly Hallows.


	2. Chapter 2

They worked the rest of the afternoon, Hermione completing the inventory and Severus managing their accounts with a grim set to his jaw. He'd have to take another cut to his pay to make the shop's rent. Yes, they had thousands of Galleons worth of rare and expensive goods, but what was that worth if they couldn't sell them? At six the shop closed and Hermione gave him a little wave before leaving to stuff down a quick bite to eat and don appropriate clothing for the night's trek.

She was already at the Apparition point, huffing steamy breaths of air into her knitted gloves, when he strode up cloaked in heavy black wool, and clutching a wide mouth jar. Hermione immediately frowned.

"We'll never be able to collect that much."

He warned her with a scowl. "It's the amount we need."

"But we'll decimate the supply; it's not responsible to extract that much from a colony at once."

"They'll manage."

Hermione bit her lower lip. "But Severus, it's getting cold. Winter's coming on and they need their dust to coat and protect their wings from the chill." They were already blue creatures to begin with, but she had visions of them turning blue with the cold anyway.

"And they'll manage."

He decidedly did not want to argue the point with her, and instantly wished he'd been the bigger man and said he'd just do it himself. Aside from the fact that _she_ really had done it last time, and the time before that, which probably meant it was perhaps his turn, he had little compunction about filling the jar - especially not after working the ledger. _But_ he did not need Hermione looking at him like he was some kind of evil Pixie-killing wizard. The colony would manage, and if not, there were bound to be other colonies.

She continued to belabor the point with him as they made their way through the dense forest with only their wand tips leading the way. Delivering sermons on finite resources and responsible stewardship of the environment, Hermione pressed upon him to find other colonies than the one they frequented along the River Exe. In the dark moonless night, stiff glares and snarls went unseen. Unfortunately, Hermione was right, and Severus accepted the point, noting petulantly that other less scrupulous wizards wouldn't hesitate to wipe out the entire colony if they knew of his secret spot.

"Our values are not for sale," she sniffed.

"No, but if we can't get this jar filled our shop will be."

The conversation became entirely academic when their colony came into full view.

"Hermione," he said quietly, eyeing the lit trees before him. "Did you do something different the last time you came here?"

He felt her sway on her feet next to him in hesitation, and he pounced on her, thrusting his wandlight in her face. "What did you do?" Severus asked between gritted teeth.

The early Autumn night held a hint of frost, but Hermione's cheeks paled from his tone. "I fed them," she choked on a whisper.

"You fed them?"

"Only just a bit. It was to say thank you for the dust."

"You fed them," he repeated, blinking.

She wet her lips and he turned away, struck dumb by the copse of trees before them, lit up like the Great Hall when Professor Dumbledore was in charge of Christmas decorations.

"I might have fed them a bit too much," she said with a worry in her voice.

"A bit? For all your high talk about ethical ecology, you've caused a population explosion. And what do you think the consequence of your meddling will be once winter sets in or the forest is unable to sustain the amount of food they require?"

"I didn't know," she cried in distress.

"You didn't think," he hissed in a lower voice, hoping to calm her. Gaining the attention of the Pixies before they could start stunning the blighters was not something Severus wanted. "Perhaps the International Conferring Authority of Potioneers was presumptuous when they gave you your title."

"Stop," she moaned, her voice laced with hurt. "I made a mistake."

He had within him the ability to hurt her further, to drive the point home and make her accountable for the damage she'd done, but he held his tongue out of deference to her. He'd made enough mistakes when he'd been young, and not all of them had involved the Dark Lord. She was still a young Potions Mistress, and still a young woman – far too young to be in his company late at night.

He touched her shoulder in a gesture of comfort, and hoped that she'd be comforted by it. He never touched her. When she'd been his Apprentice, and forced to touch her to correct her, he'd always asked permission or warned her. It kept him from taking further liberties with her body. It kept him from burying his nose in her ghastly hair, and from pressing up against her. His fantasies, though, never progressed much further than that – in truth he couldn't envision her allowing even the briefest of contact, and there was no point in trying to picture the impossible.

She sniffed loudly and Severus hoped she wasn't crying. He wasn't willing to check either.

"We'll be able to gather the dust we need," he murmured low enough for only her ears. "And then we'll come back another night to transplant a portion of the colony to a suitable location for them to flourish."

"Thank you," she whispered, relieved.

"Come then, get a move on girl," Severus growled, wishing to dispel the moment.

Working with Pixies was not for the uninitiated, as evidenced by Professor Gilderoy Lockhart in her second year. They were slippery little beasties, and never hesitated to chomp fingers or pull hair. They were small and blue, their wings gave off the faintest light when they flew, and from what Hermione could surmise, they were the randiest creatures she'd ever encountered. Hermione refrained from stating that the last time she'd harvested dust they tried to hump her fingers, collection jar, trouser legs, wand, and other assorted places on her person that she shuddered to think about.

They moved slowly as one over soft earth with their wands at the ready. The process worked best if they could Summon them as they were needed, Hermione thought – if for no other reason than because she hated just Stunning the lot of them. It seemed so unnecessary.

Severus Summoned an entire branch, and quickly Stunned them all as Hermione winced.

"You hold the jar and I'll shake. Keep an eye on them." He nodded his head to the pile of blue at their feet.

The process didn't take too long. As Hermione scooped up Stunned Pixies, Severus shook them out into the wide mouth jar and laid them to the side. If they worked quickly, they could be out of there before any of them roused from their stupor. To pick up speed, she handed him two at once and when that pile was finished, she Summoned another branch and Stunned them with a whispered apology.

Working methodically they cleared branches as the jar began to fill. Periodically Hermione glanced to the pile of stunned Pixies and promised them she'd make it up to them by bringing treats, but caught herself. Her guilty conscience could not be assuaged if she created more harm.

The jar was three quarters full when Severus erroneously thought they'd get away unscathed. He blamed himself for smugly thinking they'd actually remain unnoticed by the colony. Surrounded by trees and he forgot to touch wood.

The smack of an acorn above his ear was the first indication that _something_ _was amiss._

"Ouch," Hermione cried as another lobbed acorn hit her cheek.

They both turned in unison to the trees ahead of them, now full of angry, wrathful Pixies. At least he assumed they were wrathful given they all held acorns in their mitts.

"Hermione," he hissed quietly, casting the Pixies in his hand away from them. "They're not worth fighting, we'll come back tomorrow. On the count of three, Disapparate." From the corner of his eye he noted her nodding. His fingers scrambled to shut the lid over their night's bounty, screwing it tightly against mid-Apparation spillage as he whispered, "One… Two…" the lid snicked shut. "Three!"

He turned on the spot, the vision of their storefront firmly etched into memory – and went nowhere.

Another acorn struck his shoulder as his eyes widened, taking in Hermione's still-present body.

"Look out!" she shrieked just as the skies opened up in a hail of acorns.

Severus dropped their ill begotten Pixie Dust. Reaching for her, he pulled Hermione to him as acorns pelted them and twisted her in his arms, shielding her smaller frame as the assault continued. The acorns were more of a nuisance than anything else and they'd hardly leave a mark, but Hermione bruised easily.

A Dispelling Curse was on his lips and his wand was raised, clenched in firm fingers to take out every last one of them when his wand fell from his fingertips – too heavy to hold. The weight of his clothing bore down on him before it was stripped from him. Severus sailed upwards through the open neck of his high collared shirt as his clothing crumpled to the ground.

"Bugger," he breathed.

Hermione turned to him, naked as a jay, thoroughly bluish, and winged.

"_Never allow yourself to become overwhelmed, and always assess the working conditions,_" she mimicked him in a high voice.

"Fucking hell, woman, it's not like I saw _this _coming," he yelled back in an equally high pitch.

The whiz of a hurled acorn instantly diverted his attention from Hermione's face …and not her pert nipples.

"Shite!" he yelped as another volley of acorns dropped upon them.

In human size the acorns had been much less of a threat.

A/N:

Beta'd by the amazingly talented christev and alpha-read by the extraordinarily mischievous mischievous_t.


	3. Chapter 3

Sensibly, Hermione took off with a shot, her wings fluttering in a blur. Severus attempted to follow her glow – uncertain of the wings that carried him but trying his damnedest to keep up, as he was much slower than her lithe form. Losing her now would be disastrous.

Clattering whinnies and peals of riotous laughter chased them as they flew as fast as their beating wings could carry. Through leaves and brush with heartbeats pounding like drums they careened through the forest. Hermione stretched her hand out behind her, and Severus poured on the last ounce of speed he had to take it. She darted upwards, tugging him along, and crashed on top of a very large oak branch.

Laying over the branch, Severus aimed to keep his gasps for air as quiet as possible – not an easy prospect, but as his abundant ears searched for sounds of more of those little rotters, it was necessary. He could feel Hermione laying next to him, her arm protectively draped around his shoulders, and his hand still fiercely in her grip. If they'd have to flee again, she'd pull him along. The thought was both wholly emasculating and infinitely comforting.

"I think," she wheezed taking a deep shuddering breath, "I think… we're safe."

Severus nodded vigorously, too preoccupied with forcing air into his burning lungs. She held him tightly, closely, protectively, long enough for his head to relax against her form, cradled against her and taking liberties in the pitch darkness he'd never take. Had never dreamed of taking. Hermione stroked his sweat soaked brow, wiping strings of hair from his face and cooing lightly into his ear like a child.

"It's alright," she murmured. "We'll figure a way out of this."

Thoroughly dazed, he nodded again, slowly sitting up, and she released him to walk out along the limb. Severus quickly snatched a dry leaf to cover his bits.

"I think we'll need to find a place to camp for the night, and regroup tomorrow morning," she said as she paced back and forth. Severus cocked his head to the side, trying to focus on the heart shape of her face and not the rest of her. "We'll need to come up with a plan to alert others to our condition. I can only hope that our friends will track our wands once they discover we've gone missing."

She continued to chat animatedly about various plans of action while prancing in front of him like a dirty hippie in blue body paint, completely unaware of her body, or its affect on him.

Severus devotedly studied the pattern of the bark, and not his mate. No! She was not his mate. Hermione had never been his mate – would never be his mate. She was his …coworker. Hell, the witch owned a large portion of the shop. If he cocked things up with her, such as attempting to molest the girl – even while under the auspices of being blue and having extra bits and bobs – not only would things go all pear-shaped, it would violate at least half a dozen laws – criminal laws. That, and he strongly doubted he'd ever be able to look her in the face again. Though to be absolutely fair, ogling her nipples was bound to change some of their relationship dynamics.

Worst of all, his own traitorous body fought against him. He was tenting a damn _leaf_, of all the humiliating and degrading things. At least he had all of his facilities. His mind would never betray him.

He needed to just stay focused and remain as human as possible.

Something. He needed to think of something to focus his mind. There were …seven uses of Dragon's Blood? Seven was a good number. Certainly there had to have been at least seven uses for the overpriced stuff. It was good for -

…

…

Well, an anticoagulant was definitely one of them.

Probably.

Shite! He was doomed.

".. and I've got these strange cravings. I'm one hundred percent positive that it's not coming from me because I'm just as equally positive that I've never had the faintest urge to eat an acorn or to rut like an animal in heat on a bed of pine needles!"

Severus' head shot up.

Dear gods above the witch was naked. He knew this before, but now the sight of her gently curved belly and soft breasts drew his attention like the faint light emitted from her shimmering wings. Improper thoughts raced through his mind making him harder than the oak's branch. She turned coquettishly, her bum swaying with the femininity of her lush form. His heart stopped beating. She had a nub. No not quite a tail, but a little nub that swayed with her movement. What he wouldn't give to rub that nub. Give that nubbin some lovin'. Push her up against the tree… And if she wanted pine needles, he'd gather every last pine needle in the forest, lay her atop that bed and make sweet, sweet love to her.

_Fucking hell_.

"Hermione," he called.

"I don't feel the need to light a fire. You'd think I'd be cold, but I'm not. It's really curious, actually," she nattered on.

"Hermione!" he yelled to get her attention while staring at her little pebble toes. Pebbled toes that deserved to be sucked just as her ankles demanded that he kiss them… no! _Bad thoughts!_

"Hm?" she asked, coming too close to him.

"Have some decency, witch," he said with as much vitriol as his squeaky voice would allow. "Cover yourself."

She snorted. "Nakedness seems to be the least of my worries at this moment, Severus. Besides, what do you suggest I change into?"

"Don't get snippy with me. Just take a leaf, woman," he growled.

"Gladly!"

His oak leaf was stripped from his person in a single jerk, revealing the single thing in the whole world he desired to hide most of all.

Not that he wasn't proud of his cock, even when it was humiliatingly purplish instead of a nice pinkish color...

Before he could process her devilishness, she'd taken flight – her Pixie lit wings shimmering far ahead as a cackling laughter mocked his prudishness. Now, his mortification was complete.

There were ways to kill Pixies. The most painful was to rip their wings off – they'd twitch in agony for hours – not that he'd ever done so. But given the circumstances, it seemed like a fitting death. His fingers wrapped around one of his wings, Pixie Dust coating his palms, and began to wrench it free.

It felt rather akin to plucking out a vertebra with a dinner fork.

She buzzed back, circling their branch with giddy laughter.

"Isn't it marvelous," she sighed, diving deftly through the air. "What's funnier is that I always hated flying."

"It's brilliant," he gritted out through teeth, fighting through the lancing pain to rip off his wings.

"Oh!" She must have recognized his pathetic attempts to take his life because she stopped and crept closer behind him. "Oh, Severus, no."

Pity. Fantastic. Why not load up on the embarrassment all in one go?

"Please don't," she whispered in his ear, her fingers gently removing his grip from his battered and aching wing.

His teeth gnashed together, teeth that felt like jagged razors in his own mouth. Perhaps he could chew off a limb and bleed to death?

"I'm sorry, Severus. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I really didn't. I just have these mischievous urges. I don't know where they come from."

Great Merlin, was she nuzzling him? Pressing her body against his? The Pixie Dust must have addled her brains. Soft fingers trailed down his sides as she gentled him into submission. The harder he fought with himself, the more his body betrayed him. He ached for her touch. His logical mind hardly seemed to matter - sensible, reasonable thoughts were smothered. With his clothing and human body stripped away the Pixie had taken over.

"I fucking hate Pixies," Severus growled. If they ever got out of this mess he was going to pickle every last one of them.

"I know," she giggled into his sensitive ear. "But for the moment, I kinda like it."

Severus stilled, his whole body tense and overwrought, most notably his cock, which stood out proudly against his belly and begged for attention – the kind of attention she was giving his person.

"This is wrong, Hermione," he said with a choked voice. "It's not real."

"Then if it's not real, you shouldn't feel ashamed. Do you blame me for being naked?"

"No," he quickly answered.

"Why should I blame you then?"

"Damn it witch, it's not the same!"

Her arms reached around his narrow waist, warming his skin with a smooth friction he'd never felt before, to touch his cock.

"Because I don't have one of these?" She gave him a slow stroke that sent fire shivering through is veins. "Just because you can't see my arousal doesn't mean I'm not turned on. You have no idea how wet between my legs I am right now."

"Her-mione," he begged, even as he pushed against her. "Please don't."

There was hardly a drop of reserve left within him, barely anything at all that held him back from touching her most inappropriately. Severus swallowed the thick lump in his throat as she continued to touch him most inappropriately, his body electric and singing with each stroke.

For her, he'd carve out the tallest oak. For her, he'd build the finest burrow the forest had ever seen. And they'd fill their burrow with more children than the Weasleys could ever imagine. The mental image of her belly ripe with his child really was too much to bear. He didn't even like children - not other people's, and probably not his own screaming heathens, but he'd love hers. He was nearly tipped over the edge, the last shreds of his civilized mind intact and kicking and screaming with resistance.

She was obviously demented, succumbed to the squirrel-brained effect of their transformation. Come the day when they returned to human form, he'd once again be repulsive. The only logical conclusion in his albeit scrambled wits was she only desired him because she couldn't help herself.

"You know, Severus," she sighed wistfully. "As liberating as this is, I only wish I'd had the guts to engage you when we were human. Some brave Gryffindor I turned out to be. It only took me turning into a Pixie before I ever confessed that I wanted you."

Severus turned with a jerk, his stoic expression faltering. Eyes wide with fear, he sought hers out for deception.

"Please tell me you noticed. You must have noticed."

In truth, she didn't know what was worse: that Severus didn't notice her, or didn't care. Only the gut-wrenching fear of rejection had kept her from screaming in frustration, '_See me! Look at me! Don't you see I'm throwing myself at you?_'

Even as her heart thumped staccato in her thin chest, ready to break, she had to resolve herself for his answer. If he rejected her she'd take the grant position in Leicester and finally move on. A wave of relief swept through her as heat flickered briefly in his eyes. No, she hadn't been imagining things – he did desire her.

Words failed Severus entirely, his mouth felt full of clay. How could he begin to explain he expected his love to go unrequited? It always had been. Without stuttering like a shambling fuckwit with platitudes, Severus did the only thing he could think of; he kissed her.

Severus fell upon her, drinking the taste of her lips and at the same time trying to pour into her every heartfelt emotion bundled tightly inside – now leaping to get out. He loved her. Had loved her for so long. Hands that were not allowed to touch, hands restrained by years of self discipline roamed freely – caressed reverently over soft curves. Hermione melted into his embrace, her hungry lips and happy sighs guiding him. Pressed up on her toes, she possessively pulled at his scalp, tangling her fingers in his hair to bend his head to hers; to wholly claim his mouth. Hungrily she kissed lips that didn't at all feel thin – they were warm and soft and when his tongue twined around her she rubbed against him with the desire to fucking purr.

Her body crushed into him, her features against his chest were divine, but kissing Hermione was a particularly intimate act that he had craved for so long, and now like a thirsty man at a wellspring, he couldn't take enough of his fill. For a lost length of time they eagerly explored each other's mouths, and the sensations coursing through them, bumping noses and tilting heads to mate lips and tongues together.

Winding her arms past his neck, she trailed feather-light touches along the wingtips he'd foolishly abused, soothing the aching hurt and replacing shivering chills in her path. What an imbecile he'd been, loony and unbalanced – pathetically attempting to take his life not moments before. Now he stood with his Hermione in his arms, her comforting fingertips upon him an expression of love. He needed her, needed more of her, to cover her body with his and mark her as his beloved.

She too needed him closer. Between their bodies the frozen winter's night held naught the slightest chill, the delicious heat, the warmth borne of friction of skin against skin, set every nerve afire. There was no space to pull him closer, his lean and hardened body pressed tightly against her as she clung to him, and yet she wanted – needed more. More closeness. More Severus.

"Please, Severus," she begged with a ragged cry. He stole the words from her lips with another scorching kiss – one that nearly robbed all coherent thought from her. "Please take me Severus. I need you within me. I need you moving inside me." She did. Her legs were like liquid, and without his sheltering arms keeping her standing, surely they'd fail her.

"Hush, in time _mein nubchen._"

His chocolate tones rolled across her skin as a vocal caress.

Planting teasing kisses along her collarbone and delving into the valley of her lush breasts, Severus murmured his delight and approval. The texture of her skin was slightly rubbery, but warm, and scented with the ambrosia of Hermione's female musk. Every Pixieish bit within him burned to do exactly as she said. His body ached to bury himself within her folds, like there was a beast within barely tethered. He wanted her legs thrown about his waist, her back pushed into the oak limb and to drive her across the branch, as she screamed her release around his cock and he pushed his seed deep within her - to drain himself in her fertile womb. He'd spend himself in seconds. The filthy thought alone caused his engorged cock to twitch against her belly.

Fighting with his feral Pixie mind, he had to warn himself to go slow. He compelled himself to suckle on her delicate nipples, relishing in the way he head threw back, moaning in abandon. To give over himself to all desires, to let loose the pure uninhibited want – would cause her pain. She wasn't just his mate, she was his Hermione. Forgetting that they _were_ human, could prove disastrous.

He would restrain himself. Beat back the demanding lust-fuelled creature inside, because giving into the singular need to pound his life, his essences, the very marrow of his soul into her would not only bend wings and bruise hips, but if she rejected him…

He knew witches' affections were notoriously fickle, and she had the added excuse of Pixie-lust coursing through her veins... It was a thought that he could not handle.

He'd have to accept whatever fate she meted out to him – even if it meant dying inside.

Torn between the agonizing want of him moving inside her, and the mesmerizing pleasure of his delicious mouth, she yielded to his overwhelming passion. Hermione felt so light, her head dizzy and drugged that her wings took off on their own accord, her drenching desire thoughtlessly causing her wings to lift upward. Her arms reached lazily towards the stars like a willowy fey creature.

His love lifted in his arms, bathed in the soft ethereal glow of her translucent blue wings. Trailing finger tips down her skin, he marveled at her beauty as she stretched out high above him. Severus held on to her hips, mooring her lest she take off in flight, and caressed the flesh of her womanly hips. He pressed a soft kiss to the heated skin around her bellybutton, her trilling response of happiness causing his wingtips to shudder.

"My love," Severus hoarsely choked, honest and needy in his expression, pillowing his head on her silken thighs. "My love."

At his gentle coaxing, her shapely legs wound around him, parting before him. He inhaled her scent, her fragrant feminine aroma. It pricked his senses acutely and left his cock leaking with want. Every animalistic urge within him was cued to the scent of her desire. The warm scent of his mate's need electrified and ignited him – sending blood pounding in his ears.

In the bluish half light he could see her pearl, wet with dew, and moaned in pleasure. Beneath her crisp curls, her sex was spread open before him. Impatiently she wiggled in his arms, demanding satisfaction. Severus only hesitated a minute, his fingers clenching the curve of her firm buttocks, to caress her nub, and lightly stroke his fingertips along her parted crevice.

As she shivered in response, Severus seized the moment to latch on to her needy clit, his mouth worshiping her, and the tips of his straight and silken hair skimming her thighs as she clamped down around him, threatening to suffocate him. A frisson of lightning raced down her spine. Hermione writhed against his face as he laved her center and relentlessly teased her entrance. Fingertips tickled and trailed the tightened bud of her anus, as she clenched above him, riding his face with abandon. Hermione twisted and writhed, her twitches turning into thrashing, her fluttering wings beating erratically as sensations and synapses were overloaded. Severus latched down hard on her clitoris, sucking and flicking with abandon.

Blood rushed through her body, pounding outwards and centering on the places his feasting mouth touched. Deliriously wonderful and electric, she was caught in a swirling torrent of sensation, when he sucked in her clit and tugged.

Her neck stretched back, arched with her back to trill her orgasm into the night.

Hermione came atop him, bathing his face in her essences, which he greedily lapped up. She was still tense and shuddering moments later. As he ghosted his palms in circles over her legs he could feel the muscles taunt and twitching with the echoes of her pleasure.

Severus patiently waited for her to relax before unhurriedly pulling her down. Still buoyant and aloft, Severus pressed his nose into the curve of her jawline, scattering kisses across her neck and scenting her wild and untamed hair as she moaned. He could feel her hot core, the juncture of her thighs pressing against the glistening head of his ready cock. The needful desire to surge up within her was nearly overwhelming, as she encircled his waist with her calves and teased his length.

"Please," she moaned sensuously. "Please."

With a maddening slowness, he entered her, stretching and sheathing himself inside her wet welcoming depths with a hissing breath. Hermione's legs tightened about him even as her wings beat fast like a sparrow's. There was magic in their movement, his legs surging upwards to piston into her as her graceful winged body bobbed in counterpoint.

"More," Hermione begged her voice raw and thick with want.

He was aching – throbbing, the desire to fucking _rut_ with her was all consuming. His cock and balls were so heavy and needy for release it hurt, but he kept his thrusts gentle and easy even as the fire built.

"More," she demanded, thrashing about, her wings threatening to carry them both in flight. "Severus, stop being so gentle with me… I want… I want…"

He thrust himself, pistoning inside her with a sharp violence he'd been denying himself.

"_Yesss!"_ she shuddered, clamping around him.

"I'll spend," he shamefully confessed, dragging deep breaths into his lungs. "I'll spend quickly like an adolescent boy."

"Don't care. Fuck me again."

This time the word, _'Yesss,'_ hissed from his own throat. With her permission, Severus released the very last of his resolve, allowing his hips to drive harder into her, bowing over her body, plunging and grinding into her hips as he pushed her down into the rough tree branch. Hermione's fingernails bit the flesh of his arse to pull every inch of him into her depths. Distantly he registered her desperate shrieking calls for more. With thundering hearts and thrashing hips, they raced as one towards a pounding climax.

He spent quickly, popping like a shaken champagne bottle that drained every bit from him – poured all that he had into her. Slumped against Hermione's nubile body they panted and regained wits.

Moments later he discovered his virile Pixie body was quite ready and eager to go again.

As nocturnal creatures serenaded the moon, owl wings whispered, and other forest-dwellers bedded down for sleep, two lovers entwined together as one.

A/N: Beta'd by the amazingly talented christev and alpha-read by the extraordinarily mischievous mischievous_t.


	4. Chapter 4

In the silent hours before sunrise, when nighttime animals tucked in, sated and weary from their hunt, Severus and Hermione curled up together in a tree notch, their wings bowed together to find sleep.

He was cramped …everywhere, and was there any skin left on his knees? No, possibly not. Severus cradled Hermione gently into his reclining form as she slept against him. She'd need more healing than he would. So help him, if they ever emerged from this nightmare intact and human, he'd heal every bruise and kiss every scratch – if she ever allowed him to touch her.

Doubt momentarily clouded his mind as his heavy eyelids struggled to remain open. Would she reject him? Severus lovingly traced her form, committing to memory the tiniest details of his woman – her pebbled toes and shapely calves, the slight swell of her tummy and round fullness of her womanly hips, her small breasts and elegant column of her neck. Hermione rested her head against his shoulder, her dark and wild hair tangled and dirty, and matted against his cheek.

Was it wrong to wish to stay a Pixie forever? If it meant that she'd take hold of her senses once human, he'd build their burrow and pick the forest clean of acorns for her.

Content to hold her, Severus bowed to the inevitable and closed his eyes, protectively clutching his mate.

There was a sharp pain that lanced up his shinbone and through his groin, but the sensation of pain wasn't as overwhelming as the toppling fall through branches that followed.

Severus hit the ground hard; the painful impact forced the breath from his lungs.

_Ooof!_

Hermione toppled onto him, knocking skulls in a jarring crunch.

He winced and rubbed at his sore neck. It was morning and he was still naked. Although this time he was his usual fish-belly white, a sickly pale and pasty color except for the dark blotches of forming bruises. His hair felt greasier than usual and stuck to his skull. Hardly a Prince Charming – and definitely not what he supposed Hermione imagined waking up next to.

Slowly, as his abused body and age protested the movement, Severus sat up and took stock of their location. It was morning, they were no longer protected by the rubbery blue skin that shielded the Pixies from cold, and Hermione gripped the earth, moaning. One glance at her battered back and arms sprung Severus into action.

An odd assortment of joints popped as he stood, and his trick knee did not want to function at all, but Severus bundled Hermione into his arms, sweeping her from the forest floor. She was a complete mess with dry leaves stuck in her hair, and she was dirty from head to toe. Severus suspected he didn't look any better, but he didn't care much for his own welfare.

Hermione's head lolled against his shoulder as she moaned, leaving a smear of blood.

Desperate and panicked, Severus gritted his teeth and struggled to focus on a modified wandless 'Point Me' spell. While fleeing from cackling mad Pixies they'd left their trail. He breathed a sigh of relief as a thin silvery thread stretched through the trees; neither of them was in any condition to wander the forest for days, wandless and unclothed. Frosty leaves crunched beneath his frozen toes as he followed the thread, a prayer for her safety on his lips.

She shivered and turned closer to the warmth that cradled her. She felt the sensation that she was moving, held tight and carried as her father had once done when she was a child who'd fallen asleep before bedtime. Feeling safe and content, a small smile crept across her lips.

A twig snapped, dispelling her foggy head. Hermione jolted in his arms, and Severus pressed her to him firmly with a gentling plea to relax.

"We're almost there. Stay with me, Hermione; don't go to sleep."

Her muffled reply was not coherent, but she accepted his protective comfort, snuggling into the embrace. When her toes touched the frosty earth Hermione awoke fully. Severus set her down at the heap of their clothes, jar of Pixie dust, and dropped wands. She shook, pale and even more fey-like than the night before, naked and shivering amongst the dry winter brush. But her wand was warm in her palm.

Severus didn't wait for her to cast a warming charm and performed it for her, then followed it with a spell to reveal injuries. He breathed an audible sigh of relief when it displayed her injuries to be superficial. The cut on the back of her head was just a scratch, not a concussion, but he took the time to heal it slowly, parting her hair and allowing himself to treat her tenderly in silent apology for how rough he'd been with her. Then they dressed woodenly, Severus averting his eyes, unwilling to assume liberties he wasn't free to take. She smelled like the forest, of pine needles and wood smoke, a scent he committed to memory and vainly hoped would never wash off.

"Look," Hermione whispered, momentarily breaking his concentration.

Her fingers jabbed towards the Pixie-laden trees.

Severus harrumphed, adding "Fucking Pixies," under his breath for good measure. The blue miscreants were all sprawled out along branches, snoring heavily, obviously sated from a full night of carnal debauchery.

"Fucking Pixies," Hermione repeated with a wan giggle. "But I bet we can finish collecting now."

He looked at her astounded, as she pried the wide-mouth jar from his fingers. Hermione scooped several slumbering Pixies from a branch in one sweep and vigorously shook their dust out as Severus watched gobsmacked. She worked with detached efficiency and without giving much thought to their comfort.

"Is this an act of vengeance?" he asked archly.

Hermione glanced up from her nearly-filled jar, "I'm just not feeling particularly charitable towards those horny little tosspots at the moment." She made a slight moue of disgust, at the sticky residue that coated her hands. "Especially now that I know they don't need the dust to keep them warm."

Severus was unable to argue the point with her; their night had been quite heated.

Once she ruthlessly finished collecting every last speck of dust and sparkle they required, he gathered her to him, for warmth, for assurance, and Apparition. His next thought took them straight to his upstairs bedroom in his modest home.

Hermione immediately slumped on the edge of his bed, arms crossed about her and shivering. She stared vacantly at the floor without as much as a reassuring glance up to him. He could see the wheels turning, thoughts shaping behind her eyes. Severus strongly suspected whatever pronouncement she had in store for him, he'd not like it.

Not that he blamed her.

For every scrape and bruise she had on her back, Severus had a scratch from her nails on his own back. She had desired him. Begged for him, and taken him on like … well … a Pixie in heat. But that hardly absolved him. Once discovering that his purplish pecker was always at the ready and utterly indefatigable, he'd barely given her a moment's rest.

Fear propelled him from her sight, sent him scurrying to the hallway bathroom, just before he opened the door he heard her sigh heavily.

"Shite," Severus murmured with a wince. He should have broken off his wings when he had the chance.

In the bathroom he rummaged for every healing unguent, salve, and potion he had, double checking expiration dates and triple checking counter indications – not that he was stalling for time. And though the store stocked plenty of ready-made potions to prevent conception, he didn't have any at his house. Thirty minutes brewtime and a handful of ingredients could solve that problem, he was considering it just as he heard her move about in the bedroom, and realized he was delaying the inevitable.

_Coward!_ he mentally admonished.

With his arms laden with supplies, he trudged back to the bedroom like a prisoner to his execution. She'd grabbed his tartan throw, one of Minerva's daft ideas of a birthday gift though he'd been unable to part with it, and slung it across her shoulders to snuggle in its woolen warmth as she worried her lower lip. Her lips were still puffy and reddened from his kisses. The reminder of her hot lips sliding against his gave him the urge to kiss them again, but the grim reality of their situation made that impossible. Hermione only worried her lip when she was deep in thought, and most likely mentally preparing herself to crush the shards of his heart beneath her grubby trainers.

Slowly with deliberate movements, he set each bottle and jar on the bedside table in the appropriate application order.

"Look," she cut across his thoughts and movements, her eyes wet with unshed tears as she looked up with him. Severus' hand stilled, gripping painfully the muscle relaxer. "You're not going to like what I've got to say, but I think it needs to be said."

Severus nodded in understanding, unable to speak.

"I don't think we're cut out for harvesting rare and dangerous potions ingredients."

The muscle relaxer dropped from his fingertips.

"It's too dangerous. I manage to get bitten every time I go out. You manage to get yourself sent to Saint Mungo's for at least a day or two. And though it sells very well – when it sells – where does it really get us? I love the Apothecary Severus, you know I do. And I love you, you should know that too, but honestly…" her plaintive brown eyes searched him for understanding, pleading with him. "I can't keep seeing you get hurt."

He coughed drily as his throat had closed up, slowly processing her words.

"What would you have me do?" he asked.

Hermione shrugged haphazardly and in a way that on any other day he would have found maddening. She didn't understand, she probably couldn't understand the true meaning of his question. She needed to only say the word, and he'd do it. Besotted, lovesick fool that he was… his mate had confessed that she loved him.

"I don't know," she said honestly. "Maybe refocus the shop – start selling trendier potions. I know how much you abhor vanity potions, but that's what sells. Or… I've been offered a very lucrative research grant in Leicester. I'm sure there would be a spot for you on the team. You could come with me, maybe? Hopefully?"

Sinking on trembling legs, Severus knelt before her to throw his arms about her hips and lay his head on her lap. Her thighs were warm beneath his cheek, and her fingers lazily trailed through his stringy locks, stroking his skin with such tenderness he had no words to respond. Pulled from one emotional extreme to another, he was crumpled from the inside, but relieved, infinitely relieved – and not rejected.

Severus nodded.

"So you'll do it?" she asked, her voice full of surprise.

He nodded again.

"Which option Severus?"

"Does it matter?"

Her fingertips rifled affectionately through his inkspill hair. "No, my love, I suppose it doesn't."

A/N: Beta'd by the amazingly talented christev and alpha-read by the extraordinarily mischievous mischievous_t.


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